Personal Narrative: Skintight Black Speedo Swim

I woke up nauseous, too sick to eat. The whole drive there I was praying it would be cancelled. The fear consumed me; I couldn’t move. I just wanted to be home in my warm, comfy bed, instead I was diving into an ice cold pool. After warm-up my coach gave me a pep talk, but I was too nervous to listen. Sometimes I got so nervous I’d throw up, right before my event. To this day I still don’t understand why I got so anxious at swim meets. For the past several years, I have had a love hate relationship with swimming. I always struggled with swimming, and many times I wanted to quit. The time commitment and the physical requirements have always been a little too much for my mind to handle and it all comes to a crescendo when it is time to compete. I often wondered why I continued to put

It was 9 a.m. and my mom barged into my room. She turned on my light and told me to get ready. The light hit my face forcing me to wake up. I could hear my mom and dad packing and loading our luggage into our truck. Today’s the day, I thought, Today was my last softball tournament for at least 4 months. I got that same feeling that I get when you go down the first arch on a roller coaster in my stomach. This happens every time I have a tournament or game. My stomach flips and I get butterflies in my stomach. I get nervous to make a mistake, make everyone mad, and frustrate everyone, especially my family. My anxiety consumes me and I get so nervous when the ball comes to me that my heart starts racing. I don’t want to be the one to let everyone down. But I’ve been getting better at not being scared. I’ve been trying to believe in myself more and have been overcoming my fear. I put my thoughts aside and got up, brushed my teeth, put my contacts on, washed my face, and got my uniform on. I brushed my my hair, put it in a ponytail and got some gel to slick back my hair. The gel felt like slime as I slicked it back on my hair, and I put my bow on. I went to my room to get my sweatband and was debating on what color I should wear to match my uniform. I decided to bring both of my headbands and decide which one I should wear today on the ride over to the ballpark. I got my bag that I had packed yesterday, double checked that I had everything I

When I was five I joined a swim team, District of Columbia Parks and Recreation (DCPR). At that time every swimmer was Black which was an anomaly even for the chocolate city. Diversity eventually came about three years later when an Asian and a Croasian swimmer joined the team. However, fact that the team was for all intensive purposes made up of Black swimmers is what made this team so special. Swimming is a predominantly white sport. It is a rare to see 95 plus member team of Black children. Of the hundreds of swim teams in our region, only two were made up of Back swimmers. As Black swimmers, we come in all genders, ages, and sizes, but the one thing we collectively hold in common is the color of our skin. We do not look nor could we begin to replicate, like the

Joining a team with kids ranging from five to eighteen, it can be hard. It seemed as if everyone already knew each other. At first, I felt like an outcast, but not for long, once I proved I could swim fast. It took time learning names and getting used to the practices, but in the end my entrance into this group was easy compared to the practices I had to go through. The coaches, swimmers, the swimmers’ parents became my second family. We all believed in hard work, having fun, and racing when the time came. Our norms were putting in the effort when swimming and if you did, it would pay off in the meets. Slacking off was never rewarded and always sanctioned. Either the coach or your parent, or both, would yell at you, which distracted others, which could ultimately cause you to be kicked out of practice for that day. Although I never got kicked out of practice, I was given the infamous nickname, Snax. It was not necessarily a bad nickname, it came about because I had a habit of always having snacks. We all got nick names from something we had done or just because. My best friend was Yugi, because his younger brother had called him that, my other friend we called squid; it was just part of the culture of being on the

I have been swimming since I was six years old. I have gone to practice after practice after practice for the past eleven years. At first, I was on the club team. Then, in 7th grade I could try out for the Oxford High School team and I made it. I loved high school season the most. I loved swimming with the older kids and I loved the feeling of being on a team. Then, with what seemed like a blink of the eye, I was the older kid. I was entering my second to last season and my junior year of high school. I was the captain and the younger kids looked up to me.

I felt as if my stomach was jabbed by punches, every time a new swim event went through the list in the meet. My legs were shaking as if an earthquake was arising. I was prepared to be destroyed and laughed at by the opposing team, and given a disgraceful look by my coaches. I always pictured myself as an outsider that didn’t belong on my high school swim team. After all, I was nowhere as good as the majority of the swimmers on my team, as I have only recently picked up the proper swimming techniques.

I began swimming when I was eight years old. My mother wanted to make sure my siblings and I knew how to swim so she signed us up for lessons at the YMCA. After a few lessons, my instructor informed us that he was the head coach at a swim club and would love for us to join. My sister and I joined the club and swam there for a year or two. It became evident that both of us had a natural talent for swimming and my parents looked into a more competitive team. We joined the Southern Michigan Aquatics Club (SMAC) shortly after.

I was the new kid in a small town with no friends. First day of grade 11, only nice thing was it is a small school and easy to understand so I wouldn’t get lost looking for my next class. After long morning of trying to learn the name of the person sitting beside me it was time for the one class I didn’t need to know anyone, Gym. I was one of the Tallest kids witch was nice for most all sports. But all fun must come to an end when the coach of the volleyball team came up to me and asked if I wanted to join the team this year. He didn’t see the team to well with his story about how last year they almost won as many as they lost. I didn’t think much of the offer in my old school I never even tried to play I just seemed dumb trying to keep a ball in the air.

My leg nervously bounced up and down. Around me were rows and rows of bleachers. In front, there were several palm trees, behind an enormous pool, which glistened in the sunlight. As I glanced to my right, I noticed that there were hedges blocking a view to an outdoor area of the school. To the left was the entrance that I had come through. As I sat on the red bleachers, I thought about what I had to sit there. I was at Sacred Heart High School in Atherton, California. About a month previous to this, my dad and I had told my old water polo coach that I would be switching clubs. The change would happen in four weeks. As the days passed by, I grew more and more apprehensive. What would the new team be like? How would the coach be? Would I regret

The morning winter sky was painted with an overcast of dark, gray, clouds. The air stung my cheeks with the sharp coldness as I stepped out of the dark gray car and walked away from the pleasant heat that was circulating inside. I waved goodbye to my friend’s mom that gave us the ride, and ] pushed the car door closed. I sighed tiredly began to walk to the new Milpitas High School pool for my swim meet with my best friend, and also crush, Kaleb. We entered the pool deck that smelled strongly of chlorine and was full of frustrated coaches, nervous competitors, and families searching for someplace to sit that was warm. The pool created a big vapor cloud of the warm chlorine water vapor that was battling the cold misty air. It was my first swim meet that was in the 12 year old to 17 year old division and I was the youngest swimmer in all of my heats, or groups. I

Over the summer I decided to kill the 75 days by swimming again –a sport I haven’t touched, let alone thought about, in the past 2 years. At first my swims were leisurely because I barely remembered how to kick and breathe, but after a couple of sessions my unused muscles remembered and swimming was as easy as breathing, minus my endurance and speed. Once this hurdle was passed another quickly appeared, my need for being better. Signing up for the local swim team was possibly one of the best and worst decisions I’ve made this summer.

I used to never understand why people gave me so much attention. It was always strange. On my swim and track team, I would constantly hear “What was Bryant’s time?” or “How did Bryant do?”. Even during swim practices, people wanted to either swim against or with me. At swim meets my teammates would cheer me on, toes hanging off the side of the pool, almost every race I swam. At track meets a crowd would always anticipate my arrival by the finish line. In school, whenever my hand flies to the air, conversations cease to a halt. Silence fills the air, and everyone is left waiting for my response. I can tell that my peers are waiting in anticipation for my answer. In the classroom, people were curious of my contribution to the discussion. Even

During the swim season of my sophomore year, we had a meet in American against Moreau Catholic High School. I had finished my allotted two events, and was walking back to the locker room to change into my clothes and get ready to go home. As I was walking with my friend, we heard commotion of a missing person for the last event and varsity. I brushed it off as an upperclassmen problem and continued to change. As I was about to leave campus, the coach ran up to me and asked what my 100 meter freestyle time was. As I was about to answer, he said that it doesn’t matter and he wants me to run back and change because the event is starting in a minute. I changed and the buzzer rang as I was taking off my pants. I ran into the pool and started swimming anyway. Our relay team got first in that event.

Sitting on the edge of the Olympic sized pool, I stretched my legs and my shoulder blades. The timer struck 1 minute, and my swim team started to chant, “Rudy, Rudy, Rudy!” sa to begin the 200 meter relay, I took my place on the slanted starting board. The other swimmers, loosening up and fixing their posture, took their places on the starting positions. When the timer stuck 0, the official blew the air horn, and the swimmers dove as quick as silver into the pool. Entering the pool, I kept the streamline position for as long as possible. Then, after reaching 50 meters, I sliced the water smoothly. Reaching the end of the 100 meters, I waited for my partner to dive in for the next 100 meters, and then I climbed out of the pool. A burst of excitement

And just like that two of my sisters and I were whisked away to my swim meet. The air smelled like salty chlorine. A smell I had gotten used to over the years. Though the air was dense and humid, I had a sinking feeling that the pool would be as cold as ice. I walked into the student section, and claimed my spot on the bleachers/pool deck. This swim meet wasn't any special, but for some reason I more nervous than any swim meet I had done that year.